Easy Peasy

Weighing in this week at a nice 308 lbs. I say “nice” with no sarcasm, surprisingly. No, I don’t think I am ready for the cover of Sports Illustrated quite yet. However, being the queen of yo-yo dieting, I know it can always get worse. I remember thinking if I ever weighed 250 pounds, I would run my head over with an 18 wheeler. Now, if I weighed 250 pounds, I would walk the streets in the nude.

Now, after you’ve collected yourself after that lovely visual, I will tell you the problem I am having and always have the first two-three months of starting Weight Watchers:

It seems SOOOO easy.

I can remember distinctly sitting with my best friend (and fellow WWer), Cassandra a couple of years ago sitting at Cousin’s Subs with our veggie subs and bottles of water and talking about how foolish we ever were to think losing weight was hard. I mean, the weight was literally melting off and we weren’t starving! What the hell was Oprah pissing and moaning about, we were ruling the diet kingdom!

Then you hit the three-month hump. That’s when you start really feeling good about yourself. So good, in fact, that you let yourself slide a little. Whether it’s Christmas, a birthday party, Friday the 13th, whatever, you’ll find a reason. You let yourself stop counting every morsel you sniff. You taste freedom and boy, oh boy, does it taste sweet.

Then, you convince yourself you are cured. Your “fat mentality” has just flitted away and you can live just like everyone else. You can just eat until you’re full and the weight will just keep on dropping off.

WRONG.

I have made this mistake so many times, I kind of feel like I need a straight-jacket. That’s why I am not quite ready to celebrate my recent convictions. It feels so easy, routing and rewarding. I am just waiting for the other wide-calf shoe to drop.

But, maybe my hesitation is healthy? Maybe it’s good to have lived and learned and know that it’s going to get fucking tough. I am going to want to sit and watch Sex and the City marathons with an apple pie and a Big Mac. I am going to want to “just celebrate” and make it rain calories. But, deep down in the back of my mind is 325 pound me screaming, “For the love of GOD step away from the buffet!”

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